


Buried under with my desires

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Jon suffers memory loss after being resurrected, Sansa is still 'Alayne', Stannis Baratheon Lives, and needs allegiance from the vale, but not for long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21825046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: Post resurrected Jon is sent to the vale to get an allegiance on Stannis' behalf. While there, he discovers a long lost part of his past, and maybe his future.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 103
Collections: Jonsa Holidays 2019





	Buried under with my desires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FedonCiadale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FedonCiadale/gifts).



> Merry Christmas FeronCiadale.  
> Okay, so basically, this was just an excuse for Jon and Sansa to meet as Jon and Alayne and explore what that would have meant if Sansa was learning the game and Jon wasn't dumb. Basically, outsmarting Littlefinger but also getting what they want too. Originally, I was just going to have a smutfest with bastard Sansa kink but it just couldn't work in this. However, I might do a part two where, after everything is sorted and everyone is safe, they start exploring that dynamic :p  
> I did put a nod to the girl in grey theory you love though!

Lord Baelish’s daughter was beautiful.

Her eyes were wide and blue as she watched him silently. Jon had heard that she was a bastard like him but it was not so clear when she sat in such a way, back straight, hands clasped in her lap. Such a pose ate at Jon’s memory but nothing could form in his mind. Since he came back from the dead, he has forgotten a lot of things, everything he remembers now has come to him slowly over time. Winterfell, in Bolton’s grip, Arya fleeing for safety, he remembered those when he saw the letters again after returning. It took several readings of his sister’s name bleeding through the parchment to truly remember her, her hair like a bird’s nest, the sword he had given her. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought of another girl with auburn hair and blue eyes but he had no name for her.

Rickon’s memory was stirred when Ser Davos arrived at The Wall, shortly after he had came back, with his little brother clinging to his cloak behind him on the horse. ShaggyDog had prowled dangerously through the courtyard, staring every man down. Davos begged Jon to help Stannis take Winterfell, to put Rickon in place as Lord of Winterfell. And Jon would be rewarded with his own keep and a bride of his choice. Jon had declined the bride, some vows were hard to break, even after Ygritte. But he promised to help his brother claim his rightful place.

It was when asking about allies that the neutrality of The Vale had been broached. And the news that Lord Baelish’s daughter had come to live with her father. Stannis, like a true strategist, had jumped on the chance it provided. He commanded Jon to go south and bring Baelish on side by any means necessary. Jon was under no illusion as to what that meant. Alayne was a bastard, same as him. A union between them would not bat too many eyes but it would bring an alliance all the same. Jon hoped it would be a last resort though, the poor girl didn’t need a man like him for a husband.

“How can we be of service, Lord Snow?” He tilted his head. “I’m glad to see the news of your death was greatly exaggerated.”

Jon bristled at the old insult, and at the reminder of his brothers’ betrayal, but forced himself to be calm. “I come on behalf of Stannis. The rightful King of Westeros.”

“Hmm,” Baelish commented lightly before he sighed. “I’m afraid, I cannot see a reason to be involved in the wars for the Iron throne again.”

Alayne shifted slightly beside him, the very quick flicker of her gaze to her father and then back to him was enough for Jon to take note. She trusted him, he figured. She could persuade her father.

“Stannis will reward those who are loyal to him,” Jon replied. “And besides, there are other wars to worry about.”

Baelish lifted a brow slowly. “Are there?”

“The war of the dead,” Jon answered firmly. “Stannis will help in the fight but we need everyone to come together. So long as The Wall stands, we have time. But he will find a way around it soon enough.”

“Forgive me, Lord Snow, but I stopped believing in ghost stories when I was nine.”

“I’ve seen them,” Jon growled, his hand balling into a fist. “I let the wildlings passed because I know what awaited them. It will await all of us soon enough. We need to make Winterfell prepared for battle, it will be the first major stronghold to stand against them. I need as many men as possible.”

“And what would be the benefit for me?” Littlefinger replied, amused. The smirk had Jon scowling with the effort of not punching him there and then.

“Other than living?”

“If the threat is true, I suppose that is a reasonable offer,” Petyr said smoothly. “But even if this is true, it would cost me much in terms of good men, resources. What is Stannis offering me in return that I do not have already?”

Jon sighed, glaring to the side as he mulled over his options. He knew little of Petyr Baelish, had relied on the information Stannis had repeated. Ambitious to a fault, a man who would do anything for power. He had hated Lord Eddard for taking his love, Catelyn. Jon swallowed, forcing an indifferent expression as the words came easily.

“A Stark daughter.”

Petyr blinked. Alayne went rigid beside him. Jon forced himself to follow through. He had lied about promises before, he told himself, with Mance’s child. Arya would never be this man’s bride but he had to make Petyr believe it to be true.

“Winterfell is a greater prize than The Eyrie, though perhaps I am biased. I suppose, until the Young Falcon comes of age, you’ll have both.”

“I admit I am tempted,” Petyr said slowly, running a hand over his chin as he considered the offer. “You have given me something to think about, truly. But think on it I must, you understand? My maester will see you to your chambers. I shall have an answer for you by morning.”

***

The knock came late in the night, though Jon had been awake all the same, thinking about how he could get Arya out of the North before Petyr could marry her, if he agreed, which Jon was almost certain he would.

“Who is it?” he called out, swinging his legs out onto the floor.

Alayne’s wide blue eyes blinked at him through the crack as she opened the door. “May I come in?”

“Lady Alayne,” he greeted, bowing his head respectfully. “What can I…?”

His words died in his throat as she stepped into his chambers. The grey robe she wore slipped to the floor, leaving her in a grey shift, thin enough to see _everything._ Jon was an honourable man, a good man, but a man all the same. And he couldn’t stop his gaze roaming over her. Only when she took a step forward did the spell break.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

She halted, biting her lip. The gesture tugged at his heart though he couldn’t think why.

“Jon…” she whispered, frowning at him. Jon stared back, unsure of what to say. After a moment, she closed her eyes. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

“Should I?”

Her eyes opened again and Jon felt as though she was searching through his entire soul.

“I could lie,” she commented slowly. “It would be easier.” She sighed, twisting her hands together. “But I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I’m afraid I am at a loss,” Jon responded.

“Which daughter did you promise him? Arya or Sansa?”

_Sansa._

_Sansa singing to herself while brushing Lady._

“Sansa,” he breathed, standing suddenly before he remembered her question at the way her eyes flashed, mouth set in a grim line. “No, I…it was Arya but, he won’t be marrying her. I…I’m so sorry. I’m still struggling to remember things after…”

Sansa’s expression softened; her head lowering slightly. “I heard. I cried myself to sleep thinking about it when the raven came. But, then…how can you be here?”

“A red priestess brought me back but,” he replied simply. After forgetting her existence, the least he owed her was the whole truth of it. “The memories are hazy sometimes. Until something sparks it.” He gestured to her hair. “Why are you hiding here, as Littlefinger’s daughter?”

She shrugged. “Not all cages have bars. Not all freedoms are open.”

“He’s forcing you to stay?” Jon questioned, his hand curling into a fist on instinct. Sansa looked away, arms folding across her body as she stepped closer to the dying hearth. Jon swallowed thickly as he was reminded of his reaction when she first entered his chambers. “Why did you come here?”

“Petyr is not to be trusted,” she stated, firmly, her back still to him. “I thought you were being spiteful, the way you didn’t acknowledge me. I told myself it wouldn’t matter what you thought, this would save us both this way. I would get out of here and you would get your men. I would never have to speak the truth of it anyway. Everyone believes Sansa Stark to be dead anyway.”

“You play the game well,” he said after a moment. Sansa turned her head to him, the first twitch of a true smile gripping the corners of her mouth.

“As have you, going by your plan.”

“But, did it not bother you to know that you would be bedding your brother to escape?”

Sansa frowned, turning fully towards him. “You don’t know?” Jon raised his eyebrows expectantly while Sansa lowered her gaze. “We’re not siblings. Petyr found out, I don’t know how. But I overheard him talking about you and your parents. You’re not father’s son, your Lyanna’s.”

“No,” Jon whispered, stumbling back onto the bed in disbelief. “No, you can’t be…it’s not true!”

“He had documents,” Sansa whispered, stepping closer to him but stopped at the edge of the bed, hesitating. “Jon, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this. I thought you knew.”

“My father…not him,” Jon murmured, covering his face with his hands.

He felt Sansa’s hand on his shoulder, gripping it firmly as she settled beside him. “You’re a Stark to me,” she whispered, sliding her hand across his shoulders until she was able to pull him into her embrace.

Before he could even realise, tears clouded his vision and a sob broke through his lips. Sansa tightened her grip and wrapped her other hand around him, her fingers toying with the end of his curls as she gently shushed him. His own fingers gripped at her shift, desperate to hold her to him, anchor her to this new reality. The first Stark he had seen since they had separated all those years ago, the only tether to the family he wanted so much to be a part of. Now he was, he thought bitterly. But not the way he wanted to be. Lyanna being his mother would have been beautiful if it hadn’t meant Rhaegar was his father. He was a Targaryen more than a Stark in the eyes of Westeros.

But…if Sansa had planned what he thought she had…

Suddenly, his hands were cupping her cheeks and his lips were firmly against hers. Sansa’s hands flew up to his, but she didn’t push them away, merely pressed them against her cheeks, keeping him in place as her lips moved beneath his. Her soft moan urged him on and he moved his hand from under hers, tangling it into her hair before he regretfully backed away.

“Tell me what you planned,” he whispered, staring her down. Sansa swallowed.

“To seduce you,” she replied back, just as quiet. “When Petyr found us, you’d have to marry me. Your alliance would be secure, I’d be able to leave before…” She trailed off, lips trembling as she looked to the side. Jon shifted closer, let his thumb caress her cheek.

“Before what?” he urged, pressing his forehead to hers. “Tell me. If someone hurt you…”

“Petyr wants me,” she replied on a shaky breath. “He makes me kiss him and…I know he won’t stop.”

“He’ll never touch you again,” he growled. “I’ll kill him myself. As your husband, I’d have every right to.”

Sansa’s lips twitched, one brow raised in amusement. “You’ve come around to the idea of bedding your sister,” she teased.

“Maybe I never had a problem with it,” he countered, smirking at how her lips parted, her cheeks stained pink, her eyes widened but the black of desire clear to see. He pressed closer, his lips just a breath away from hers. “Maybe you didn’t care either.”

She never got the chance to reply before his mouth was on hers again, his body covering hers as he pressed her into the mattress. Her hair fanned out across the pillow, dark when it should be copper. The thought made him growl in anger, his mouth wrenching away to bore his eyes into her own. Tully blue.

_Sansa. Radiant Sansa._

As he surged down again, kissing her fiercely as his fingers fumbled with the ties of her shift, Ygritte’s words came flooding back to him.

_Would you bed your sister?_

Sansa nipped at his mouth as he pulled back again to see what he was doing with her shift, her neck arched submissively with a needy whimper to accompany it.

She wasn’t his sister, not truly, though they may have been raised as such. But if they had been truly so, he knew the answer would be the same. The memories of her from before, the jealousy of her on Joffrey’s arm, the soft warmth of her laugh. _Radiant._

Would he still bed her if she had truly been his sister?

Blinking up at him, pink lips parting, fingers reaching for his nightshirt, the undeniable need in her gaze, the question of why he wasn’t doing what they both so clearly needed.

Gods help him, he would.


End file.
